02 March 2010

The view looking out is obscured, and it follows the same would apply to the view looking inward. I cannot prove it, because I cannot look myself in the eye except through mirrors. Mirrors are useful, sometimes, but mirrors are not people. Mirrors can only show you what is on the surface.

Windows allow sight out, light in. The eye does much the same. Eyes do not truly look in on themselves, only the eyes of another make that possible. Thus, the dilemma: if I want someone to look into my eyes to see who I am, I must allow them close enough for unbroken sight. This is an uneasy task. Letting someone that close is letting them close enough to love. Love brings with it strength, and vulnerability.

Vulnerability creates anxiety. Anxiety breeds fear. Fear, as Frank Herbert wrote in Dune, is the mind-killer, the little-death that brings total obliteration. It is just cruel to think obliteration could be the end result of love.

So it is that I must face my fear. I will let it wash over me and through me, just as Herbert's Bene-Gesserit would have me do. I have no choice. I will let others in, I will let others peer through the dust, grime and cracks so that they can see who I must be. I am confident that love will be there, I will have it and because of that, I will not be afraid. I will not be obliterated.

I will lose my fear of love. I will have my window and mirror. I will see out, and in.

See, when I let somebody get that close to my eyes, they're bound to start watering -- my eyes, that is. I just can't do it. I want to yell, "Get back, give me space!" But that's just where I'm at these days. Maybe a little gunshy. You too?